


Enough

by palmtreelights



Category: Power Rangers, Power Rangers Dino Thunder
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Coffee, Dancing, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Romance, Starting Over, picking up where you left off, this got really long i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 07:07:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6319534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palmtreelights/pseuds/palmtreelights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Recovery is easier when you don't go at it on your own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enough

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to the usual suspects for their unfailing support as this became enormous and as I kept lamenting how the show just kind of shrugged Elsa away once she was redeemed. You can't do that and not expect me to go looking for answers.
> 
> The song lyrics are from "Brujería" by El Gran Combo.

“Do you remember how to fight?”

Anton looks up, fork halfway to his mouth, and frowns. “I never fought.”

Right. It was Mesogog who fought, and always in his own form. Elsa nods, glances out at the harbor—the crashing of the waves covers their voices from the people seated at tables near them, so they are safe here, free to talk about what they’ve been through.

“I remember fighting,” she says, facing him again. “I think, if I tried, I could remember how to do it.”

“Why would you want to?” he asks. “There’s no more need to fight. We’re free now.”

She shrugs and looks down as she pushes around the last few grains of rice on her plate with her fork. “It was… fun. Almost like dancing. Well, not fighting the Rangers, or trying to hurt people. At least, not to me. But Mesogog’s Elsa loved being cruel, and those memories—” They are hers, but they aren’t. Anton can certainly understand that, but in his case, there is someone else to blame. Mesogog’s actions were his own, and Anton fought to regain control whenever he could.

Elsa doesn’t have that. Mind control or not, it was always her. All that hatred must have come from somewhere, right? And even if it hadn’t, even if it truly had been all due to Mesogog’s power, she still has to contend with what he caused her to do, and the flicker of delight that crosses her mind when she remembers. She squashes it, every time, and is left with guilt and fear in its place.

She stops playing with her food and meets his gaze. “If I can find the fun in them, the enjoyment that _isn’t_ connected to destruction, it might be easier to think about it all.”

“Ah.” He nods, takes one last bite, and sets down his fork, arranging the utensils on his plate to indicate he’s finished.

She follows suit, resting her hands on her lap when she’s done. It all takes just a few seconds, but the silence, filled only with the clinking of silverware on ceramic, seems hours long.

“None of that was your fault,” he says, voice quiet but firm.

“Or yours,” she adds.

He doesn’t protest, and she doesn’t get the chance to say more, as a waiter comes by to clear the table and offer drinks or dessert. Elsa shakes her head when Anton glances at her in silent question, and shoots the waiter a quick smile as he heads off once Anton has asked him to bring the check.

“Thank you,” she says, but she leaves out the _you don’t have to do this_ that she’s sure he sees in her eyes and hears in her voice. If treating her to fine dining in Reefside helps him cope with all that happened, then she’ll let him.

He shrugs, giving a small smile. “It’s nothing. Think of it as a celebration of your being appointed principal.”

Frowning a little, she snickers. “I thought that’s what the dance at prom had been for.”

“No, that was—” He glances away, his smile faltering for a moment. “That was for old time’s sake.”

She nods, frown deepening. Life before Mesogog feels like an eternity ago, even though being freed from his control had been like waking up from a single night of long, heavy sleep. All her old memories are still there, but they and the other Elsa’s seem as if they’re someone else’s. Her rational mind knows that’s wrong, that they’re hers, and that her old ones were only blocked, not tampered with, by Mesogog’s power. She can trust them to be true, and she can trust Anton to confirm the ones they share.

But she has to trust herself before she can start to put her life back together. Work is easy. All her experience and certifications remained untouched over her lost time. The rest?

As the waiter brings over the check and Anton pulls out his wallet, Elsa takes a slow, deep breath. The rest, she will take one moment at a time.

“Well,” she says, once the waiter has gone off with what is obviously a generous tip, “it was nice to revisit that. You always were a good dance partner.”

Chuckling, he stands and goes to her. “It takes two.”

She takes his hand when he holds it out to her, and together, they walk out into the balmy air of a summer night.

 

* * *

 

Elsa hadn’t paid much attention to Reefside before Mesogog. She might never have even come here if not for him and his quest for those gems.

Now she has an apartment and a job here, but not much else. No connections, and only the barest beginnings of roots. Regular direct deposits have kept her bank account from being closed, and automatic payments have kept her utilities on and her rent paid. She remembers every moment, every thought she had as Mesogog’s servant, every single thing she did to keep up the ruse that she was still Elsa Randall, high school principal. Everything had been for him and his dream, for the monster and his promise of destruction.

In the first few days after Mesogog’s defeat, she’d stocked up on enough food to last at least a week, and started tidying the apartment from top to bottom. Last year, she had only come here to change into something suitable for work. With such a busy schedule of serving an unforgiving master and planning ways to wipe out his enemies, laundry had been little more than an afterthought, beneath an agent of the dinosaur-hybrid-human world-to-come. Minimal expenses meant enough disposable income that she could buy as many new outfits as she wanted while others were at the dry cleaners.

Now, two weeks later, she’s finally gone through all those outfits and separated what she’ll keep and what she’ll give away. Hayley, one of the few people Elsa can claim to know in Reefside, had agreed to give her some boxes when Elsa had asked, and when she goes to pick them up, Hayley offers to help her pack them.

“You have a whole café to take care of,” Elsa remarks, sliding the last of the flattened boxes into the trunk of her car. “It’s just clothes. I’ll be fine on my own.”

Hayley gives her a wry grin. “We’re closed today. Inventory. Before you ask, yes, I’m putting it off. You’ll be doing me a favor if you let me help you.”

“Well,” Elsa concedes, rolling her eyes as she gives in to a smile, “put like _that_.”

So Hayley follows her back to the apartment, helping Elsa take the boxes inside when they get there, and unfolding them while Elsa starts moving piles of clothes over to the coffee table and the couch.

“I can’t believe the other Elsa cared this much about clothes,” Hayley says, glancing up at the eighth handful Elsa brings over.

“I’ve always—” Elsa begins, then pauses, the brief silence filled with the sounds of cardboard bending and unfolding. “She got it from me.”

“Sorry,” says Hayley, but for all that she is sincere, the apology is so casual that it seems as if it’s over nothing at all. “I won’t bring it up unless you do.”

Elsa shrugs. “It’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Thumbing at the shirts in her hands, she sits on the couch. There’s another pile of clothing between her and Hayley, button-down shirts in different colors. She glances at them, then meets Hayley’s gaze. “She was me, and I was her. I don’t know how else to say it.”

“You know, I’ve heard a lot of weird things—comes with the territory of being friends with a karateka paleontologist and being tech support for a team of superheroes—but that’s a first.” Hayley picks up the packing tape on the coffee table and starts to seal the bottom of the flaps shut, all the while shaking her head. “But I guess nobody ever expects to be mind-controlled by an evil freak, either.”

“Tell me about it.” Elsa snickers. This is the lightest she’s felt since walking away from the final battle, the bundle of nerves in her chest loosening a little with every second. When was the last time she’d just chatted and laughed and really meant it? “It didn’t turn out so badly, in the end. I got a job out of it. A good one, in a nice city. And I ended up meeting a few good people, too.”

“Don’t tell Tommy that.” When Elsa frowns at her, Hayley adds, “He’s got a big enough head as it is.”

“Ah, so that _wasn’t_ something I was wrong about before.”

Hayley laughs, an unrestrained, infectious sound that fills the room and chases out the specters of the year spent as another person, pulling Elsa into its warmth until her cheeks hurt.

“Oh, we need to keep you around,” Hayley says once she is down to another quiet chuckle or two. “Not enough women on our team, you know?”

The remaining delight from their laughter settles in Elsa’s chest. Not since being a child has an invitation meant so much to her. “Well, if you’ll have me, I’d like that.”

Scooping up the pile of shirts next to her, Hayley nods. “Of course we will. Stop by the café anytime.” She puts the shirts in the box, pressing them down as Elsa sets her handful down between them.

“Thank you for your help, by the way,” Elsa tells her, reaching for a stack of skirts. “If you see anything you like, you can have it.”

“None of these is really my style, but I appreciate the offer. Kira might be able to mod something, though.”

“Oh? Then she can look through everything before I give it away.” Dropping the skirts into a box, Elsa adds, “I’ll bring them to the café when I head over sometime this week.” She’ll be starting work back at the high school in a few days, too, the last thing she needs to do to fully reclaim her life. The hours of having to keep back the memories of the year before from people who never dealt with it all firsthand will be easier to handle if she knows she’ll be able to see the handful of people she can trust soon after the work day is done.

They work in silence for a while, the sounds of shifting fabric and sturdy cardboard becoming rhythmic only a few minutes in. It’s comfortable until it starts to feel unreal, like the memories of the lab on the island and traveling through the invisiportals. Even though she knows they’re genuine, factual places and events, they sometimes feel like dreams, or hallucinations. This is going to be part of her normal now, though the spells will be fewer and further between as time goes by, she hopes.

“You’ll be okay, you know?”

Hayley’s voice is soft as it cuts through the hazy trance Elsa has slipped into. The instinct to reach for the sword she no longer has itches at the back of her mind, sending a jolt of fear through her that steals her answer away.

“I mean it,” Hayley adds, leaning forward, right into Elsa’s line of sight. “Just because there aren’t any more monsters to fight doesn’t mean the battle is over for any of us. Some of us have more to deal with than others, and we’re all going to be here for each other. And you’re a part of this, if you want to be.”

Elsa takes a slow, deep breath. Hayley makes it sound so simple. It can’t be, though, not for her. Certainly not for Anton. But to doubt Hayley’s sincerity could far too easily close this door forever, so she nods, giving a small smile.

“Good. Now—” Hayley slides one box onto the floor and pulls an empty one up onto the table, the half-smile on her face as full of good-naturedly cheeky as a full one. “Much as I’d rather go to the dentist than do inventory, let’s get this all done so I can head back to work.”

“Right.”

 

* * *

 

School is out for the summer, but for Elsa, work is just beginning.

As far as the school board knows, she was kidnapped by the power behind the monsters that spent the last school year attacking the city, and impersonated by a shapeshifting dinosaur-woman whose goal was to wipe out Reefside’s youth in her search for the Power Rangers.

“I didn’t think they’d buy it,” she tells Tommy Oliver, who volunteered to give her a tour on her first day here as her real self. “I mean, sure, the hair and the glasses did throw people off, but still. The same name, the same resume, the recording of the fight—you’d think that would make people hesitate to give me a job around kids.”

“This is the city that saw monsters try and level it almost weekly for about a year,” he says, arching his eyebrows. “You being kidnapped isn’t that weird, all things considered.”

“I suppose.” She shrugs, stopping by a plaque commemorating a donor and their gift to the school. “It’s strange to remember everything so vividly.”

“I figured I’d save you the trouble of having to pretend for one of the other teachers.”

“I appreciate that.”

They walk down the hall in silence, taking their time. He is walking at her pace, and she takes it slow because she needs to experience it all again, to come to know the school she could’ve destroyed, to meet the faculty she could’ve killed only a month ago. She would have, if Mesogog had asked her to.

“So,” she begins, to stop herself from following that train of thought further. “Have any interesting research coming up?”

“Nah, none of my own.” He glances at her as they turn and start up the stairs. “Anton asked me to help with the plants he’s working on, the ones that Mesogog trashed. It’s not exactly my thing, but it could be interesting. I think I’m going to do it.”

“Good,” she says, the conviction in her voice so strong that he stops and frowns at her. She keeps going, just two more steps up, before turning to face him. Now at eye level with him, she meets his gaze head on and lets him see a sliver of the mix of sadness and anger coiling tight inside her. “Maybe you can get him to stop blaming himself for everything that happened.”

Tommy gives a smile that’s more of a grimace. “I don’t know. That’s— That kind of thing takes a long time to get over.”

“I know,” she insists, “but I’ve heard that you’ve already been through it.”

He inhales slowly, gaze darting up and down the stairs as he checks for wandering faculty and staff. When he looks at her again, he shakes his head. “My experience was more like yours,” he tells her, lowering his voice. “Every time. So I guess if _you_ ever need someone to talk to—”

“I’m fine.” It’s a lie, and they both know that, but this isn’t about her. She’ll recover in time. Anton needs his help more than she does.

Tommy nods, and in the second where he looks away with lowered gaze, the electric anger of Mesogog’s Elsa floods through her veins and puts words in her head. _Tommy, the little boy grown up, still playing at Power Rangers with a bunch of children, like he’s so much better and smarter and stronger—_

“I’m fine,” she hisses, and draws in a sharp, shaky breath. But before he can point out the obvious, she adds, “Anton needs your help with more than just the plants. You knew him before Mesogog, and so did Trent. I don’t think I ever did.”

“Trent needs his friends,” says Tommy. “And they’ll be there for him, I know that. And so will I.”

“Anton needs his friends, too.” Which includes her, though she’d always wondered if they would move beyond that. They had toed but never crossed that line, danced along it—

Dancing. How wonderful it had felt to dance again. Of all the things that Mesogog’s power had twisted his Elsa into taking from her life before his influence, dancing was the only one she never touched. Yes, the grace and precision she’d learned through dance had translated well into martial arts, but the artistry, the living and breathing the music, the synchronicity with a partner—those are wholly Elsa’s.

“Yeah,” Tommy says. “I think we all do.”

‘We’? _Him_? He wasn’t the one controlled by an evil gem, or by an evil would-be overlord. He wasn’t the one fighting to retain his humanity for years. _How dare you—_

“Yes.” Elsa forces a smile, nodding, breathing away the remnants of Mesogog’s Elsa’s impulses. That’s all it was, she tells herself. That’s all it is. Soon, those thoughts will stop altogether. “Yes. We do.” Turning slightly, she looks up the stairs. “And you and I need to finish this tour and head back to the meeting.”

His smile in response is far more sincere. Nodding, he gestures towards the science classrooms. “After you.”

“Why, thank you.” She dips her head in a mock bow and starts up the stairs again. Feigning excellent manners is easy. She’s playing a part, like when Mesogog’s Elsa pretended to be the real, untainted person as she walked these halls seeking out students to torment, for the fun of it.

Most people aren’t granted the chance to right the wrongs they have committed. Knowing what a gift this is, Elsa will not waste it.

 

* * *

 

Maybe it has to get worse before it gets better.

Maybe she should sign up for karate lessons and let the residual instincts of being a vicious warrior overcome her in a place where she won’t be able to hurt anyone, or where she’ll be stopped if she goes too far.

Maybe she should take up running. Wake up an hour earlier every morning, slip in some earbuds, play her music the loudest she can stand it, and try to outrun the voice, her voice— _her_ voice—so cold and cruel and callous.

It won’t work, she’s sure, but she might try anyway.

For now, the silence blanketing Anton’s house and grounds soothes the frayed nerves left over from a restless night. Make-up hides the circles under her eyes, masks the stresses of the aftermath of a year as someone other than herself, and the gentle breeze keeps her grounded in the moment.

“Black with two sugars, right?”  
  
Elsa glances up, takes the mug of coffee Anton hands her, and smiles, probably more delighted than she should be. “You remember.”

He nods, flashing her a quick smile. “I’m sorry I was so cryptic over the phone,” he tells her, sitting in the patio chair next to hers. “It’s just that there are a lot of things I feel I should tell you. And they’re all— private is the wrong word, but it’s close enough. It’s about the last few years, but not the sort of things anyone should overhear.”  
  
“None of it is,” she murmurs, shrugging. “But…” She leaves the sentence there, lips pulling back in a small smirk that she very much on purpose doesn’t hide quickly enough behind her mug. When she has taken a sip of coffee, she finishes, “If all you wanted was to have me over for a while, I would’ve said yes anyway.”  
  
He smiles, shutting his eyes as he gives the quietest of laughs she’s ever heard. It doesn’t make him look younger or more lively; he’s been through too much for such a small thing to do more than erase some of the exhaustion on his face and clear away the shadows left over from his extended war with the monster that tried to consume him. This is him as he was when she first met him—tired, but still himself.  
  
They’re both starting over.  
  
Sighing, he opens his eyes and looks out at the small lake. For a few seconds, he is silent. Then, so softly that she almost doesn’t hear him, he asks, “Have you ever wondered why Mesogog chose you, out of literally anyone, to be his general?”  
  
There’s part of her that wants to shoot back a challenge. Is he implying that anyone else could’ve done better? That there’s no obvious reason Mesogog should have picked her? But that’s—not her. No—it is her. It’s her misplaced pride, and one of the traits that fueled Mesogog’s Elsa’s loyalty and rage.  
  
She breathes through it, exhaling the tension it has made flare up in her, and answers, “I thought that me being a high school principal had something to do with it. Easy way to keep track of Dr. Oliver.”  
  
“That’s true, but it wasn’t the reason at the top of his list.”  
  
He sets his mug down on the armrest of his chair, his grip on it loosening a bit. There’s so much milk in his coffee that it’s almost white. Memory tells Elsa it’s six sugars sweet.  
  
“The—incident,” he begins, “the test that resulted in Mesogog coming to life, happened a few days before you and I first met.”  
  
She finds the memory easily, of a more or less ordinary day that saw her travel two hours away from home for a conference at which he happened to be speaking. They’d met afterwards, at the networking dinner. She had pointed out the music, and he had asked her to dance.

“Back then, I thought I would be able to fight him,” Anton continues. “I thought I could win. So I lived as if nothing had happened at all.”

In the moment it takes him to breathe before going on, Elsa figures out where this is going to go. At least, for his part in it. She _thinks_ she knows where it will go for her, but it’s less frightening to focus on him, on the story whose end she knows.

“It wasn’t hard at first. I had research to do, I had the company to run, I was speaking at conferences.” He nods to himself, tapping out a beat on the mug. It could be any song, or no song at all, but her mind goes to that first conference, where he’d spoken about his cutting-edge research and how stories like his could get students interested in pursuing careers in the sciences, and the ease with which they matched the music with every step and pause, every turn, every breath.

“I think he was biding his time, gathering strength little by little so it’d be too late when I finally noticed.” Heaving a sigh, he looks down at his mug and stops tapping. “It worked. I was able to control the transformations when he pushed through at first, but our—fights, I suppose, became more frequent. That relates to you in that he was always aware of where I was, what I was doing and thinking. He was full of this icy hatred that just… infected me, my thoughts. It was good for business, good for work. But not for much else. I was able to hold onto my sense of self when Terrence Smith disappeared and whenever I was able to spend time with Trent. Strong emotions, I suppose is was that helped. That, and music.” He pauses, meets her gaze. “And dancing.”

There’s no suppressing the shiver that sends through her, so she takes a long drink of coffee. It burns on the way down, grounding her. “So _that’s_ why a world-renowned millionaire scientist liked to spend time with some nobody high school principal.”

“No,” he says at once, shaking his head. “That’s not true. I would’ve sought you out anyway.”

“Right.”

“I mean that.” His grip on his mug tightens, and he lifts it halfway to his mouth before sighing again and setting it back down. “And Mesogog knew it. He observed, and he waited. But when he started to be able to overpower me for long periods of time, I had to stay away for longer, stay rested so I could keep him back. I couldn’t spend as much time with Trent as I wanted, and I know that hurt him. I was so afraid I was going to lose myself that I hurt the person I care the most about.

“Anyway, as more of that went on, I caught on to his plans. When he was in control, it was like I was watching everything through a screen, and I could only come back if I broke through it. I know it was the same for him when I fought him off, because he always talked about what he saw.

“He hated my research. He called Trent my greatest weakness. He told me he would use my name and my influence to change the world, as if his view and mine were the same on that. When Tommy took the dino gems, he decided it was time to start taking action. He needed to build an army, but he knew it would be quicker if he had help. He’d already turned Terrence Smith into Zeltrax, but that wasn’t enough. Zeltrax was a warrior, not a strategist. He needed someone as invested in experiments as he was.

“When you told me you’d begun your career as a biology teacher, he knew it had to be you.”

Even though that’s what Elsa expected to hear, the words feel like a kick to the stomach. She audibly gasps, her hands shaking as she lowers her mug to her lap. All that time, someone had been _watching_ them, listening in. Every laugh, every dance step, every moment she had invested so much into—none of it had been truly private, all because of that monster.

“He’d already decided you could be useful,” Anton continues, his voice softer now, as if that could possibly make this easier to hear. “He believed emotions were part of why humans were worthless.”

“So he did it to hurt you,” she supplies, as she looks down at the coffee in her mug. “To try and crush you for good.”

“Yes.”

“So turning me into that person was just—”

In her peripheral vision, she sees him nod. “You were in the wrong place at the right time.”

Sighing, she closes her eyes. “I feel sick.”

She hears him place his mug down on the stone patio and stand from his chair, and she lets him take her mug and set it aside. The world begins to spin, and she leans over, holding her head in both her hands. Time loses its meaning as she forces herself to take deep, even breaths, listening to a chanted count of _one, two, three_ that sounds like it’s coming from right next to her. She zeroes in on that, lets the voice guide her through this, these long, awful minutes, until the spinning halts and she feels herself stop shaking in her seat.

There’s a hand on her back, warm and familiar. As her breathing quiets, she hears distant birdsong, and finally, she feels able to open her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” says the voice that counted for her.

She lifts her head and turns to look at him, as he stays there, crouched beside her chair.

“It’s my fault you were involved,” he adds, and he draws back his hand.

“You’re not the one who did all those things to me,” she tells him, the words slow but firm. As she straightens, he shakes his head, but she doesn’t let him say anything just yet. “And blaming yourself doesn’t change anything.”

He takes a breath as if to speak, then seems to think better of it and sighs. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just wish you hadn’t been dragged into it all.”

Biting her lips, she shrugs. “What’s done is done. It’s over.”

“Yes, it is.” Nodding, he stands. “And now you know.”

“Yes.”

She looks out at the grounds, breathing deep of the fresh air this far from the city. It’s funny, how she lasted so long after being freed from Mesogog’s control before it really sunk in that he had taken her life away for so long. It’s a twilight space, between real and false, and it casts her whole life until this moment into doubt. In the back of her mind is the impression of the Elsa who fought to kill, staring Anton down and pointing her sword at him. _You did this,_ that Elsa says, her anger reaching out to try and override the true Elsa’s logic and control. _You did this! You took away my life!_

“It’s not your fault,” breathes this Elsa, the _real_ Elsa, the one who was just a pawn in Mesogog’s game. No—they both had been, in the end. All of her had been. “It’s _not_.”

“Keep saying it and I’ll really believe it someday,” he says, a whispered chuckle following.

“I should go.”

She stands and faces him, and immediately her resolve falters. Where only a moment ago he’d laughed, however quietly, now he doesn’t even meet her gaze, so unbecoming of a man in his position. She can’t leave him this way, not after everything he’s told her. Or rather, she doesn’t want to.

So she takes a step closer, holds her breath for a moment, and says, “He made me hate you.” She pauses for a second when he looks at her, then continues. “His power, it— Mesogog was so powerful. It was like he programmed me to hate you and all humans, to forget I even was one. All I could think about was making him proud of me, doing everything I could for just the tiniest bit of praise. He changed me into his devoted little servant, and it was all to try and break you as much as it was to take over the world.

“But that’s _not your fault_.” She presses her lips together and breathes deep through her nose, against the rising tide of the other Elsa’s thirst for destruction. It’s another few seconds before she can speak again. “It’s so confusing sometimes. I feel like I was two different people. Like I still _am_ that. You know how new habits literally re-wire your brain? Well, I guess I’m still in that place, being like her. She’s there. I’m— I think like her now and then, like I used to when I was—her. When I was his puppet.” Shaking her head, she lifts a hand to her temple and frowns, a mirthless laugh spilling from her lips. “I don’t know how to talk about this, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t—don’t be sorry,” he murmurs. “You of all people have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Don’t I?” She laughs again, the sound hollow. “It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over.” Tucking her hair behind her ears, she sighs. The forced smile leaves with the breath, and for a second, there is perfect silence. Then a bird trills its song, and she gives a tiny grin. “You were right, though, about it being the wrong place but the right time.” She reaches out and takes his hand, her fingers closing tight around his. “Every dance was perfect.”

He nods, turning his hand so he can get a better hold of hers. “Yes, it was.”

Her smile widens. “I need to get going, but— let’s go dancing this weekend.”

Chuckling, he nods again. “That sounds great.”

“Details forthcoming.”

This time when Elsa laughs, it’s quiet but sincere, and it’s what she leaves him with as she walks away.

 

* * *

 

“I was under mind control once,” says Kira, as she holds up one of Elsa’s longer skirts. “ _Nice_. The skirt, I mean. Not the mind control.”

Elsa looks up as she uncaps a marker, looking from Kira to the skirt and back. The café is closed for the night, and Kira has stayed behind after helping clean up, her thanks to Hayley for letting her and her band play a few songs. The only people who might still be here besides Hayley and the two of them are all in the know, which is at least one thing they don’t have to worry about.

“I figured,” says Elsa. She writes _DRESS SHIRTS_ on the box in front of her, capping the marker when she’s done. “I didn’t know that happened to you.”

Shrugging, Kira folds the skirt and sets it next to her on the armchair. “It was kind of a weird coincidence. Dr. Mercer took us on a field trip to the museum, and I wandered off and wound up finding the bones of some mind-control dinosaur that he and Dr. O had worked on.” She snorts, rolling her eyes. “Because _that’s_ what two Ph.D.’s should get up to, right?”

Despite her best efforts, Elsa smirks. “I think you’re being a little generous.”

Kira snickers. “Anyway, it was only for a few hours, but it was weird.”

“To say the least.”

“Basically.” Pulling another skirt out of the box in front of her, Kira looks up at Elsa. “Mesogog was controlling you for at least a year, right?”

“Longer than that,” Elsa answers, placing the newly labeled box on the table. “I couldn’t just walk into that principal job, after all. Oh—I never met him, but your last principal’s retirement? That was Mesogog’s doing.”

Kira’s eyes go wide. “ _He_ made Mr. Miller retire? How?”

“A well-planted suggestion. He was good at what he did, you’ve got to give him that much.”

“Creepy.” Kira shudders. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“It’s over now.” Without looking up, Elsa grabs another box. “That’s all that matters.” She keeps her eyes on her work, but she sees Kira sneak a glance at her nod out of the corner of her eye. She’d kept her tone as neutral as she could, but she’s sure she came across as harsh. Here is Kira, expressing empathy for her predicament, and here is Elsa, shutting her down with a handful of words. Part of that is habit, from having to be firm with students so they’ll know where the lines are that shouldn’t be crossed. Part of it is the other Elsa’s drive to crush the Rangers. But part of it is coming out of the last year and more and still having to find her footing in a city she knows but doesn’t know.

Printing _SLACKS_ on the box she’s working on, Elsa looks up at Kira. “Do you remember any of it?”

Kira rubs the fabric of a brown skirt between her fingers, frowning a little. “Sort of. It’s kind of fuzzy. It was like I was sleepwalking and just moving on command. I had a mission, and once I completed it, it was over.”

“You had no autonomy,” Elsa supplies, nodding. She waits a moment to see if Kira has more to say, then continues. “I did. As much autonomy as Mesogog wanted me to have, anyway. He blocked off everything that made me who I was and plugged the gaps with ambition and loyalty. It started to deteriorate a little near the end. I think that was just my self-preservation instinct, though. He was getting impatient and handing out death threats left and right, and I tried to save myself.” Pursing her lips, she shrugs. “It didn’t work. I cracked when he questioned me and went right back to being what he wanted me to be.”

“Geez, you really do remember it all,” Kira remarks, grimacing.

Elsa shrugs. “For better or for worse.” More for worse than for better, most days. Sometimes, in the middle of making coffee, she’ll flash back to working in Mesogog’s lab. Other times, she’ll hear his low, hissing voice when the shower is running. The nights are mostly better unless she dreams, and then it’s always a nightmare of punishment, the searing pain in her head that leaves her exhausted when she wakes, a dull ache pulsing behind her eyes.

“You know,” begins Kira, folding down the flaps on the box labeled _SKIRTS_ , “it’s cool if you want to talk to me about it. I don’t mind at all. I can even kind of relate. But after it happened to me, I talked with Trent. He understands it way better than I do.”

“I imagine he does.”

“He told me he remembers everything, too.”

“Oh?” Then that means that Trent shares some memories with Elsa. “Wouldn’t it be nice if we could all do group therapy.”

“Hah, yeah,” Kira laughs. “But at least we’ve got each other.”

Elsa nods, giving a faint smile. “Yes, we do.” Hayley may have told her that before, but it isn’t until now that she understands the meaning of _team_ , that she feels that Hayley’s invitation wasn’t just her speaking for everyone, but on their behalf, saying things they would have said themselves. Here, in this empty café, surrounded by Kira and boxes of clothes and the echoes of Hayley’s and Trent’s voices in the back, Elsa begins to feel like she will very soon _belong_ somewhere in Reefside.

 

* * *

 

This is likely not what Kira had in mind when she suggested talking with Trent, but the way Elsa sees it, sparring with him kills two birds with one stone.

Up in the greenhouse, well within sight of Elsa and Trent, Anton and Tommy are working with the seedlings and plants that had survived Mesogog’s fury. They will watch and see if the fight gets too rough or if anyone gets hurt, and Tommy will be able to step in if need be.

It’s as safe as the situation can get, so Elsa breathes easy and lets down all the guards she’s kept up every day since waking as herself on that rooftop.

“Ready?” Trent asks her. He’s already in his fighting stance, despite how he’d balked when she’d first suggested this.

The neural pathways built to sustain the other Elsa’s hatred and loyalty are still there, twined with the true Elsa’s, guiding her into position as she meets his gaze and nods.

If Trent had hesitated because he’d been afraid of hurting her, he need not have worried at all. The moment he starts to move towards her, she flies into action. Her body moves almost of its own accord, memory overriding conscious thought, and she effortlessly ducks beneath his high kick, the momentum carrying her so she comes up behind him. She follows the instincts telling her what to do, striking out with one arm to hit his shoulder. He just barely evades that, and she takes a few quick steps back, gaining her a second or two’s reprieve.

She spares a moment to think of what to do, whether to move left or right or to stay put, and as she goes to go left, he comes in and grabs her forearm, whipping her around so hard that she loses her balance and falls.

“Sorry!” says Trent, rushing to help her up. “Are you okay? I’m so, so sorry—”

“I’m fine.” She takes his hands as she gets to her feet, shifting some of her weight into his grip as she steadies herself. She’s breathing heavily, and her side hurts from the fall, but otherwise she is, in fact, fine. Lifting her gaze to his, she smiles. “Honest.”

He sighs, relief smoothing out his frown, and grins. “You were doing great. What happened?”

Letting go of his hands, she shrugs. “I started to think.”

He laughs. “I know what you mean. Do you want to keep going?”

“Yes.”

Three attempts later, they’re two and two, he is flat on his back, and she’s the one holding out a hand to pull him to his feet.

“Guess it’s like riding a bike,” he says, brushing grass off his pants. He glances back at the house. “We must’ve done good if they didn’t come out here to stop us.”

“Two scientists working on a project? They might have forgotten we’re out here altogether.”

“I hope so.” Shaking his head, Trent starts walking to the patio, where they’ve left bottles of water and some towels. He glances at her, confirming that she’s following him, and says, “Dad could use the distraction.”

Elsa lets silence fall between them as they get to their waters and take a drink. How appropriate is it to talk with Trent about his father? At least he’s not a student at her school anymore. Bad enough that when he was, she was trying to kill him. There’s sharing stories and memories about Mesogog, and then there’s doing the same about the man Mesogog had possessed. And then there’s the fact that she’s in an in-between space with Anton, where the path is clear but they’ve not yet really started on it. Worrying about him, at least, falls under the auspices of both sides of where she stands. Besides, if Trent is bringing it up, then he’s not averse to speaking with her about the subject.

Placing her water on the table, she picks up a towel and dabs at her forehead. “I would’ve thought going to work every day is enough.”

Trent arches his eyebrows at her. “Is it enough for you?”

She gives a wry grin. “Fair point.”

“He seems like he’s mostly okay,” he continues, wincing as he takes a seat. “It helps that Mesogog was an entirely different person. Dinosaur. _Being_ , I guess. Not like—I mean, I know we got the evil from my dino gem to become its own person too, but before then?” He laughs dryly and leans back in the chair. “That was all me.”

Elsa physically bites her lips to keep from saying what he’s surely already heard from everyone else, that it absolutely wasn’t him at all. That won’t help him now, like it hasn’t helped her, because remembering the evil acts they committed gives them some measure of ownership over them. It’s something neither of them wants, of that she’s sure, but it’s there, irrevocable and ever present.

“So what you’re saying is that he’s doing better than you are,” she settles for instead, twisting her towel in her hands as she takes the seat next to him.

Sighing, he shakes his head. “Not really. But that’s kind of how it is for all of us.”

“It’s funny,” she begins, her voice soft. “He keeps saying that the things I did to you and the others last year weren’t really done by _me_ , but you and I know it’s not that simple.”

“Yeah.”

“Your friend Tommy says it takes time to get past this. He speaks from experience, but—” Lifting both eyebrows, she shrugs. “I don’t want this to take years. I don’t want this to take _months_. It hasn’t even _been_ a month since it was all over.”

“It feels like such a blur,” he remarks. “I keep drawing moments from when I was possessed—from when it really _wasn’t_ me, and from when it was—only I beat the gem every time. It doesn’t really help, but it gives me a little control. Or so Hayley says.”

He’s so good at his art, too. She smiles. “Hayley’s got a very good head on her shoulders.”

“She’s been great ever since I got here.” He pauses, takes another drink of water, then looks over at her. “Do you have anything like that? I only really remember the other Elsa, and I’m pretty sure your hobbies don’t include gene splicing and sword fighting.”

“After today, I’d say the latter is up for debate,” she says with a small smirk. “But… no, not really. I like to dance, but that’s—” She shrugs and looks down to the small lake, smile fading. “It’s not the same for me to dance at home, by myself. It’s more of a social thing, and I haven’t exactly been feeling social lately.”

“Elsa.”

When he doesn’t continue, she looks up at him and is met by a knowing smile.

“Dad told me you’re going out tomorrow.”

“Ah.” She puts on her best innocent look, shrugging. “And here I thought _I’d_ get to surprise you with that one.”

He chuckles. “It’s okay. It’s not weird. Well—kind of. But not in a bad way. Everything is weird, to be honest. ‘Normal life’ feels like a grand prize in some sweepstakes.”

“I guess it’s true what they say about not knowing what you have until you’ve lost it.”

And they’ve lost so much. Yes, they’d already known that monsters attacked their planet, heard about teams of Rangers in other cities fighting off threats and protecting them all. But _living_ it—being in the middle of it all—has shattered the fantasy of _normal_ that most people inhabit. Even here, in the city that only just witnessed its near destruction, everyone she runs into goes on as if nothing happened. That must be how they deal with it all.

How lucky for them. For those who played a part in the fight, that option no longer exists.

“Dad is really looking forward to tomorrow,” Trent says, and in the silence of this summer afternoon, his voice seems much louder than it is. “So if going out to dance is something that’s good for both of you, then I hope you keep doing it.”

“I appreciate that.” She pauses, lets herself think back, reaching beyond her memories of evil and to the person she once was. “We used to really enjoy going dancing. Prom was nice, but that was also a work function for me. Tomorrow will be strictly fun, I hope.” She tries to smile, but it comes out strained, more like a grimace. Shaking her head, she drops it. Neutral feels more comfortable, more true to how she feels when she is neither her real self nor the monster’s puppet. “I spent so long doing only what Mesogog made me want to do. Dancing is the only thing I have that’s really _mine_ anymore, so I’m… I’m really looking forward to it, too.”

“But no pressure, right?”

Even though he smiles as he says it, his tone is gentle, and his gaze is kind. The impulse to attack him for this slight hint of opposition is easy to brush away when everything about him says he only means the best.

“Thank you, Trent,” says Elsa, and now when she smiles, it’s small but cheerful.

 

* * *

 

_“¿Qué me habrá echao esta chica que me tiene arrebatao, que me tiene medio loco…?”_

“This is a good song,” says Elsa, as she and Anton step out onto the deck of the beachfront club. According to its website, the club hosts Latin night every Saturday night, and since it had been her choice where to go, she’d picked this place.

“I thought you didn’t speak any Spanish,” Anton remarks, coming up next to her.

She smiles up at him. “I don’t, but I’ve known the song for years.”

One night in graduate school, a friend who had been tutoring students in Spanish for years translated the song for her as they danced to it, and since then, she’s loved it. A man is accusing his lover of using witchcraft to make him fall for her and keep him faithful. It’s a little too real now, after what they’ve been through, but its beat and brass pulse through her and draw in her within moments, and she pushes the song’s meaning out of her mind as she pulls Anton out onto the middle of the deck, where the space has been cleared to allow patrons an outdoor dance floor.

He leads her in the easy count of basic, _one-two-three, five-six-seven_ , keeping it simple and relaxed for a few measures as if to test the waters. They fall into step as soon as they begin, just like before, like their first dance years ago. Then, when the chorus begins and she sees him relax into the song, he lifts her hand up and to her right, the signal for a turn.

It’s just them and the music, from that moment on. Elsa is dimly aware of the people around them, of the sea breeze keeping them somewhat cool, of laughter from the people sitting with food and drinks. Nothing else matters, because she can trust the music to keep going, and she can trust Anton to guide her through the space and the songs. Here, now, she believes that everything really will be all right.

Thirty, forty minutes later, the DJ plays a bolero, one of the older ones that sounds like it’s being played off a vinyl record. It’s slower than the salsa and merengue that’s been playing since they arrived, like a deep breath in the midst of the euphoric frenzy from before. She doesn’t know the translation for this song, but she doesn’t have to. The singer’s voice speaks of heartache and longing, filling every step and breath with meaning. Elsa never wants this to end, though every song must.

Yet it isn’t the song’s coda that slows them to a stop. Instead it’s the crash of shattering glass, and the angry, drunken shouting of a man standing so suddenly that his chair topples over. The music isn’t loud enough to hide it, and once it’s obvious the argument is only going to worsen, the DJ stops the track, and the song’s sweet cocoon floats away on the wind.

It’s Anton who sees it first, looking at something behind her as the music stops. Elsa turns then, pulling her hand out of his while she leaves her other one on his shoulder. She watches as the man who knocked over the chair swings a fist at the man across from him. The second one catches him by the wrist and shoves him back as he stands.

Before Elsa realizes what’s happening, time slows down, and she begins figuring each fighter’s rate of success against each other, predicting how much damage they’ll do before they’re stopped, and calculating how many hits it would take her to knock them out. It would be easy, the other Elsa’s fighter’s instincts tell her. They’re drunk, their balance is off as it is. She could have them down in maybe a minute or two, and—

“ _Elsa_.”

Anton’s whisper draws her out of the battle mindset. He places a hand on her shoulder as if to physically stop her from going to the fight, as if he can read her thoughts. She breathes deep as time returns to normal, forcing herself to relax her muscles, to loosen the fist she’s coiled free hand into.

The fight escalates quickly into a messy brawl, and other patrons clear out of the way to avoid injury. From inside the establishment come shouts for them to stop. The crowd begins to shift to let the voices’ owners pass to stop the commotion.

To Elsa’s trained eye, they aren’t fast enough, and it’s this realization that makes her slide her hand from Anton’s shoulder to his arm and begin to push him towards one of the exits. “Go. _Go_. We have to go.” _She_ has to go, has to leave before the other Elsa’s impulses overtake her. That would only end in disaster, a bloody nose at least, and she isn’t in the mood for a trip to the hospital.

They squeeze and elbow their way out into the cloudless night, heading straight for his car. She breathes deep of the warm air, holding onto his arm as they move, afraid that if she lets him go she’ll drift away.

“Are you all right?” he asks as they come to a stop by his car.

She nods, her head down as she focuses on her breathing.

“Elsa,” he insists, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“I’m fine,” she says, lifting her head and meeting his gaze. “I’m fine.”

He sighs, his shoulders sagging as relief takes the tension from his muscles. “So much for a nice night out.”

In spite of what she almost did, she laughs. The sound is shaky, uncertain. They’d made it out of that mess so easily, and he’d read her well enough to stop her from making an already ugly scene worse. It’s hilarious. It’s _hysterical_. It’s _horrifying_ , that this is what she will face for the rest of her life, landmines everywhere, triggered by the slightest thing.

“I could’ve killed them,” she manages between giggles, and when she hears how that sounds out loud, she sobers at once. “I could’ve—”

She can’t say it again.

“Let’s sit down.”

Like before, she lets him lead, going where he indicates without complaint. Once in the car, with the doors open, she leans back in her seat and concentrates on her breathing, timing it to the beat of the music that starts up again after they’ve both sat down.

The relative silence stretches out between them. It’s her cue to take the lead, but she holds on to this pause, this brief rest, for just another moment.

“I’m sorry,” she says, somber and soft.

“For what?”

She breathes in and out twice more before answering, almost sheepish, “For ruining this.”

“You didn’t ruin anything.”

“I almost ran into that fight. If you hadn’t stopped me—”

“I’m fairly certain you wouldn’t have fought them,” he tells her, giving her a small smile. “It wouldn’t be a very good career move for you.”

She smiles, a bright, fleeting grin. “Probably not.” Another few seconds later, she sighs. “Still. Tonight was going so well.”

“It still is. This is just, to use a technical term, a hiccup.”

Suppressing a smile, she turns to look at him and frowns. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

Shrugging, he answers, “I know better than to use certain other kinds of language around a principal if I ever hope to teach at her school again.”

Despite herself, she grins, forgetting for a second what brought them here.

And then it comes back, heavier this time, and her smile fades around the edges. “I’m being serious.” Her grin gone now, she adds, “It was terrifying.” She shakes her head, trying to dismiss the memory, bringing up others instead. “What if that happens when I’m at school? With the faculty, or a parent, or the students? I’ve felt that way before. I’ve thought like her, like what I was. I could be pushing a shopping cart down the aisle and I’m her again, and anyone could be an enemy. And I can’t—”

She can’t even find the words for this.

With a heavy sigh, she looks down at her hands. The memory of using them to fight is vivid enough that the shadows falling on them now remind her of her clothes from her time under a power she once would’ve sworn didn’t exist.

She can’t live like this, always afraid of falling into the thought patterns Mesogog forced upon her. She can’t spend her every waking moment fighting back those impulses and expect to perform half as well as she used to in every part of her life.

If she hadn’t ruined their night before, she certainly has now.

“I can’t be this way,” she finally finishes, the words quiet and flat. “But I suppose I have to be. All of us do.”

“No.”

Even though the word is barely more than a whisper, his tone is sharp, and his gaze is hard when she looks at him.

“What?”

“No,” he repeats, shaking his head, his eyes on something she can’t see. “We don’t _have_ to be this way, afraid of—of living our lives. We’re going to get better. _All_ of us. We’re going to move on. It’s going to take time, but we’ll get there, I know it. Tommy was able to do it. We will be, too.”

When he turns to meet her gaze, she’s taken back to all those years ago, the first time she saw him. He’d spoken with calm conviction about his projects and his work. It’s that same certainty that she sees in him now, earning her attention with no effort at all.

“This—incident, that fight just now and what it did to you—it’s just one thing, one occurrence. This is the first time we’ve gone out in years, and the first time after all that went on last year and before that. Of course something happened tonight. But that just means we try again.” He pauses, the spell that had enraptured him leaving now, and takes a deep breath as he returns to here, to her. “That is—if you’d like to.”

“Of course I would,” she says, reaching out to take his hand. “Mesogog took so much from me. I’m not letting him take this, too.” Whatever ‘this’ may ultimately mean.

Slowly, a smile spreads across his face, small and serene, same as the one that had enchanted her what seems like so long ago. Of course she will fight for this, for the life she is building from the rubble the monster left behind, and for the good that’s remained despite the chaos.

 

* * *

 

One morning the following week sees Elsa leave her apartment a little early to make a stop at Hayley’s Cyberspace.  
  
So soon after opening time, it’s mostly empty, save for a few kids on computers or curled up with a book. She heads straight for the counter, where Hayley rings up a purchase and Ethan sits with his laptop, a drowsy-looking Conner by his side.  
  
“Oh, hey, Elsa—um, Ms. Randall,” says Ethan.  
  
Though she feels as tired as Conner looks, Elsa manages a smile. “‘Elsa’ is fine after everything that’s happened, don’t you think?” Then, turning to Hayley, she says, “Give me anything at all as long as it’s got two shots of espresso in it.”  
  
“Ouch,” mutters Hayley. She reaches for a cup and crosses to the espresso machine. “Rough night?”  
  
“Yes,” Elsa answers. She glances at the boys, who don’t manage to look away soon enough that she doesn’t catch them staring. The impulse to insult them is dull and fleeting, her sympathy for Conner’s sleepy state too strong to be overcome. “Nightmares.”  
  
“Ugh,” groans Conner, shuddering. “Christmas shopping dreams. Least favorite part of last year.”  
  
“Sorry about that,” says Elsa.  
  
“Not your fault,” Conner replies right away, straightening in his seat. “Oh, uh, I meant to ask you.” He narrows his eyes, as if formulating his question takes all the energy he has. “Is it true that you used to work at a prison before coming here?”  
  
“Seriously, dude?” Ethan hisses at him. He shakes his head. “I apologize for him.”  
  
“It’s fine,” she tells him, smile widening. “And no, it’s not true. I worked at a boarding school with an accelerated high school diploma program. If they’re able to complete it, students can graduate a year ahead of every other high school. It’s a lot of work, and faculty and staff have to work hard to keep things running very smoothly, so a lot of the students call it ‘the prison.’”  
  
“Here,” Hayley cuts in, setting a drink in front of Elsa. “A mocha, because chocolate is the best medicine. Two espresso shots. You seem like a soy milk person, but I didn’t risk a guess. Was I right? Sugar?”  
  
“It’ll be fine how it is, thank you.”  
  
“You’d probably make a good prison warden,” Conner says.  
  
“Man, _come on_.”  
  
“What? It’s true!” Conner gestures towards Elsa. “Would you mess with her?” Looking at her, he adds, “No offense. I just wouldn’t mess with you, powers or not.”  
  
“You know, Conner,” Elsa says as she pulls a credit card out of her purse, smirking, “people don’t give you enough credit.”  
  
As she hands Hayley the card, she watches Conner shoot Ethan a triumphant grin, to which Ethan mutters, “Whatever, man.”  
  
When she has rung up the transaction, Hayley tells Elsa, “You should come to Kira’s show tonight. Everyone will be here for it.”

Elsa takes a sip of her drink. The bitter flavor is just the shock she needs to be even marginally functional today. Surviving work will take enough strength. Will she have enough left over to try again at having fun?

“I’d love to,” she says. “This should keep me up ‘til then.”

“Maybe we should give Conner one of those,” Ethan remarks. “He’s _supposed_ to be prepping for a job interview.”

“It’s for soccer camp.” Conner rolls his eyes. “It’s in the bag.”

“So why are you even up this early?” Hayley asks him. “No offense, but you don’t look so good right now.”

“So I’ll be awake by the time I have to be there.”

“Smart,” Elsa says, snickering. “That’s not a bad tactic.”

Shaking his head, Ethan narrows his eyes at her. “Please don’t encourage him. He’ll go right back to how he was last year.”

“Dude—”

“I’ll take that as my cue to go.” Lifting her cup in a mock toast, Elsa gives all three of them a smile. “I’ll see you tonight.”

She leaves to a chorus of good-byes that improves her morning as much as the coffee.

 

* * *

 

What does one wear to a former student’s hour of stage time at the local teen hot spot?  
  
For all that she’d owned roughly three times as many outfits only a month ago, Elsa never had this problem when her mind was wired for destruction. She'd dressed to blend in and look the part at work, and to fight at her extracurricular servitude. Fashion didn't matter when humanity was going to be turned into human-dino hybrids ruled by her boss.  
  
Now, though, she falls back into the old habit of wanting to look her best. Work is easy to dress for, and so are days off and nights out. But this is new, different. Hours away from old friends and colleagues, she has no one to ask for advice. Her time to get ready is running out, and she is determined to go support the girl who risked her life to save a stranger who’d spent a year trying to kill her.  
  
The other Elsa’s quicker, more efficient decision-making process buzzes at the back of her mind, and she lets it guide her as she looks from one end of her closet to another. A few dresses stand out, and a shirt or two that could go with this skirt or that pair of pants.  
  
_What a waste of time,_ she can hear herself muttering. She clenches a fist as if she were saying it aloud. _I’ll look stunning in anything, and I’ll crush whoever disagrees._  
  
“No, I won’t.” She relaxes her fingers and takes a slow, deep breath, pressing both palms flat against her shorts. “There’s no more need for that.” As she exhales, she shuts her eyes and counts to three and reaches out with one hand, grabbing the first piece of clothing she touches. No more deliberating, no turning back unless it will leave her very obviously over or underdressed.  
  
When she arrives at the café and sees the steady stream of people walking into the building, a chill creeps down her spine. She stays in her car, back pressed against her seat, eyes shut, keys gripped tight in her hands as she quietly talks herself through this. “No one’s going to cause trouble. Everything will be fine. Stay with people who know. They’ll keep an eye out for any warning signs.” It’s long and messy for a chant, but it’s all she’s got as she starts shaking. No one needs a repeat of last weekend, least of all the teenagers who’ll be here. They’ve seen her fight once. That’s more than enough.  
  
Her heart rate spikes as that memory comes back to her. She’d fought well, probably should have kept fighting and just done away with Tommy Oliver then and there. Instead she’d made one more mistake. It’s a miracle Mesogog hadn’t been angry enough to be done with her sooner. It’s a miracle he let her live at all.  
  
None of his choices about her had been because of her, though. She’d just been a puppet, a pet trained to fight and obey, to swear herself with every breath to the monster pulling the strings, all so he could flaunt her unflinching loyalty in his human host’s face.  
  
But all that is over now. She belongs to herself again. So she _will_ stop with this shallow breathing and speeding heart, these trembling hands, this instinct to get out of the car and run as fast as she can.  
  
“Breathe,” she orders herself in a whisper, and starts to count out loud. Even with the windows down, she hears nothing but her own, breathy voice for so long that it seems like this, and the rhythm of these deep breaths, is all she’s ever known.

It’s ten, fifteen minutes later when she starts to feel steady again. She opens her eyes, takes one long, deep breath, and gets out of the car. The night air is cool, which helps the world come into focus. Another minute or two should do the trick, and then she’ll head inside. Concentrating on the mundane things—shutting the door, putting her keys in her purse, smoothing out the front of her dress—eases her the rest of the way back into the real world just in time to hear footsteps on the asphalt of the parking lot.

When they’re only a few feet away—she might never spend enough time as a normal human to dim her fighter’s senses, but that might not be so bad, especially in times like this—she whirls to face the person approaching her.

“Sorry,” says Trent, stopping short and lifting up both hands, a sheepish smile on his face. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t.” She’d been ready to fight him, though. _That_ scares her. Shaking her head, she sighs. She refuses to get upset again. Once tonight is enough. “What are you doing out here? I thought you’d be inside by now, with Kira or the others.”

He sticks his hands in his pockets and shrugs. “Kira’s warming up. I came outside to call Dad to tell him she’ll drive me home later.”

“I see.” She gives him a quick smile. “Why hasn’t he bought you your own car? You’re old enough.” And it’s not as if Anton can’t spare the money.

Chuckling, Trent shakes his head. “We have drivers, so I never needed one. I tried last year, but he was—well, you know. He tried to bribe me with one so I’d go into business administration in college. That didn’t work, obviously, so now we’re calling it a going-to-college present.”

“Not a graduation present? A _saving-the-world_ present?” She rolls her eyes, smiling again, laughing a little. It feels good, like breathing deep after nearly drowning.

“Hey, if you want to lend me a hand with this, I’m not going to stop you.”

Does he mean that as a joke, or as subtle encouragement of what she and his father could have? Another laugh covers what would have otherwise been an awkward pause. It doesn’t matter how he’d meant it. It’s a nice sentiment. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He nods, grin softening a bit. Just that small change is enough to make him look tired and years wiser; but even knowing the things he saw on the island lab, the sacrifices he made, and the battles he fought for himself and for the world, she sees a boy she should have watched over, a student with a bright mind and so much potential, another innocent kid caught up in a mess that the adults supporting him and the others had been able to do so little to help fix.

“Let’s head inside,” she says, gesturing to the café. “I want to get a good seat.”

All at once, he’s back to his calm, casual self. “I’ve got it covered. After you.”

She gives a quick bow of her head in thanks and starts towards the building, more relaxed now than she would’ve if he hadn’t been outside when he was.

Trent walks ahead of her and leads her to where Hayley, Ethan, and Conner are, guarding enough seats for the five of them, though they need not have. The café isn’t as crowded as Elsa had expected it to be.

“Some kids are already vacationing or working,” Hayley remarks when Elsa asks, sitting next to her. “Still, good turnout, great for business. I’m going to ask her if she wants to make this a weekly thing.”

The music starts up before Elsa can respond, so she shoots Hayley a grin and settles in for the show.

 

* * *

 

On Saturday morning, as Elsa lies in bed, allowing herself a few precious minutes of laziness in a life that’s been nonstop work and recovery since she’d gotten it back, her phone vibrates on the nightstand.

She stretches, her muscles still a bit sore from sparring with Trent yesterday afternoon, and grabs her phone. Sitting up, she shakes her head to clear the remnants of a restless night’s sleep from her head. It isn’t the worst night she’s had by far—at least she slept seven hours straight—but there’d been very little respite between dreams of running through the halls of the island lab, turned into an inescapable labyrinth by her tired, still wounded mind.

Flipping her phone open, she opens Hayley’s message and reads it slowly, easing herself gently into full wakefulness.

_Still up for brunch at the café?_

“It’s seven, Hayley,” Elsa murmurs, snickering. “Neither you nor your guests should be awake at this hour on a Saturday.” She’s fairly sure Anton is, and she and Hayley certainly are. Tommy might be the only one of them still asleep, but even though she remembers a younger man’s bravado in him from the many times they’d battled, she knows how teaching alters a person’s circadian rhythm. Besides, if Hayley has invited him to brunch, she’s probably waking him up with a text message at this very moment.

_Of course. See you later._

Her reply sent off, Elsa goes to get ready, tying her hair up in a messy bun as she starts grabbing a change of clothes. After a shower, she starts the coffee pot, brushing out her hair as she waits. As nice as it had been to be able to change her appearance at will when infused with Mesogog’s power, she’s glad for the slower pace of normal life. Keeping her hair long is her one concession to vanity. She likes to twist and style it when she goes out, likes to tie it back when she’s doing work around the apartment, likes the feeling of the wind in it when it’s loose.

She never used to think about it much, but now it’s a joy to do something so mundane as her coffee brews.

Brunch isn’t until nine, so she takes her time getting ready, hoping the dull headache from the lack of good sleep goes away before she leaves for the café. It doesn’t, but it doesn’t get worse, either, so she finally heads out and makes it there just a few minutes before the appointed time. She’s left her hair down and worn a casual dress, a visual reminder that today is supposed to be as light as the fabric.

She’s the last one there—a surprise, since usually she’s one of the first. Ignoring the ‘closed’ sign on the door, Elsa lets herself in and is greeted by the smell of fresh coffee and muffins, and the sounds of an animated discussion at the table where a plate of eggs and hash browns sits untouched, surrounded by four steaming mugs.

“It’s completely unchanged from a few months ago,” Anton is saying when Elsa approaches. “I was up before sunrise today to observe it and confirm the time-lapse.”

“You could’ve left it for a weekday, man,” Tommy responds, shaking his head. “I’m sure the plant would’ve waited.”

“Okay,” Hayley starts, setting a tray of muffins on the table. She shoots Tommy and Anton a look each. “Could you two stop talking experiments for, I don’t know, an hour, maybe? We’re all here now. From one nerd to two others, let’s _not_ talk about work.”

Tommy shrugs. “It’s not _really_ work—”

“Yes, it is,” says Elsa, her voice firm, her smile playful. “Not that it isn’t interesting, but it’s not something we’re all involved in.”

“So, only topics we’re all involved in,” remarks Anton, nodding. “All right.”

“Thank goodness you’re here, Elsa.” Taking a seat, Hayley rolls her eyes. “I’d forgotten why these two got along so well in college. They’re both obsessed with their research.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” Tommy says as Elsa sits at the table. “I’m a teacher now. I don’t have time for my own research. I have to live vicariously through—”

“Through a CEO,” Hayley interjects.

“Who happens to be a scientist first, and also happens to be doing research,” Anton adds.

“All of you sound like students I’ve had.” Shaking her head, Elsa reaches for her mug, peering inside to make sure her coffee is dark enough. “I know I’m a little out of practice after last year, but I’d hoped not to feel like I’m at work today.”

There’s a pause, a collective held breath as it registers with the others—and with her—that she’s made an offhand joke about her ordeal. In that moment, the impression of her false self surges. She cannot be vulnerable around them, cannot let them see that she doubts what she has just said. She could snap at them, drop the easy smile on her face, challenge them with just a glare to dare to say anything about it.

Her true self wins, though. Of course she’s going joke about it with these three people. They know what happened and have been nothing but kind to her since she’d woken up from that nightmare. She trusts them, at least with the knowledge of her double life. There is no need to be afraid.

She grins more widely, and they all relax at once, quiet laughter underscoring the clicking of utensils on plates as they serve themselves food.

This is almost normal, like Hayley must have intended it to be. For Elsa, it’s the beginning of a new life in a new city, with new friends and all sorts of possibilities. The mood is as sunny as the day, and the conversation seems like it could go on for hours by the time they’re done with the meal. It won’t, of course—Hayley has to clean up and open the café for the day—but it’s a portent of future get-togethers.

Elsa hasn’t smiled this much in longer than she cares to remember. It might even have been perfect, the first untainted event of her life as a free person once more, if they hadn’t somehow found themselves on the topic of that time, probing at the mysteries of the war against Mesogog and at the choices that led to this moment, here and now.

“Well,” Anton starts, his gaze downcast and his voice quieter as he revisits memories he probably wants to keep locked away, “everything he did, he had a purpose for. What he did, how he did it—even _I_ still feel like I don’t know everything, and I— he was in my head.”

“Zeltrax and I chose where to attack most of the time,” Elsa supplies. “Unless we had specific orders, at least.”

“Smitty,” murmurs Tommy, shaking his head. “Did you know him, Elsa? He was our friend.”

“No. He’d already become Zeltrax by the time I met him, but Mesogog told me the story, or his version of it.” As bizarre as it is to be speaking of this as if it were in the distant past, telling it like a story is almost like being freed again. Maybe this is what Trent had meant when he’d told her how drawing scenes from the past helps him feel some measure of control over it. Even as she feels a chill run down her spine, she isn’t afraid.

“He was jealous of your plan to seduce Tommy,” says Anton.

“Oh. _That_.” Elsa rolls her eyes. “I don’t know why I thought that would work.”

Hayley shrugs. “You would’ve done anything for Mesogog, right?”

There’s that chill again. Elsa nods. “Yes.”

“He was right, though,” Anton continues. “Smitty was gone by then. I wish—” He stops himself, then sighs. “I wish none of it had happened. Too many people got hurt.”

“Hey, you didn’t know what was going to happen when you tested that formula,” says Tommy. “None of this is anyone’s fault but Mesogog’s.”

“I’m not so sure.” Elsa takes a breath as the others look at her. It’s Tommy’s gaze that she meets, though, calm in the face of his frown, even though it brings her so close to the place in her head where the other Elsa still lives. “Zeltrax made his own choices. I tried to talk to him, near the end of it, but he was too far gone. He wanted revenge on you, me, and Mesogog.”

“What did you do that he wanted to hurt you?” asks Tommy.

Glancing at her mug, Elsa shrugs. “Not want him the way he wanted me, I guess.”

Anton shakes his head absently, while Hayley narrows her eyes.

“Smitty was a good guy,” Tommy remarks. “It’s a shame.”

“I’m sorry all of you had to go through something like that,” says Hayley. “I was kind of hoping you’d get to talking about it today. You could really help each other out.”

Tommy snickers, a fond smile on his face. “Geez, Hayley, what _don’t_ you think of? Would’ve been nice to have you around when Rita and Zedd were trying to take over the planet.”

“You have to know life without me so you can appreciate life with me.”

“Do I ever.”

“Anyway.” Hayley smiles at him, Elsa, and Anton in turn. “If you want to talk about it without me around, I can go start cleaning up.”

“No, it’s fine with me if you stay,” Elsa says at once. “In fact, I’d rather you did. We might get too lost in the confusion of it all.”

Anton nods, and Tommy says, “It’s not so bad after a while. You’ll be brushing it off in no time.”

He says it with a smile, and she knows he means well, but the chill that shoots down Elsa’s spine dissolves her control. Her mind shifts, becomes _her_ mind, enough that the moment she feels the change in her thought patterns, she notices how all three of the others tense as they look at her.

“Don’t do that,” Elsa says, her voice as hard as her gaze. “Don’t belittle this. It’s fresh in our minds, and it’s painful. Don’t disrespect us that way.”

“I, uh—” Tommy glances at Anton, then at Hayley, then looks back at Elsa. “I didn’t mean—”

“You meant to make light of it,” Elsa states. “Because I did, you thought that was an invitation for you to do the same.”

“No, I was just trying to be positive. I’ve been there—”

“For how long? How long did you spend, all your experiences combined, completely under someone else’s control?” He opens his mouth to respond, but she cuts him off before he even draws a breath. “A few weeks? A month? I was Mesogog’s little warrior for over a _year_ , and I remember _every bit_ of it. I all but worshipped him. I used my job to try and hurt students. _Children_. Just because they could fight back. Tell me again how that’s something I’ll be able to brush off in no time. Tell me again how it’s ‘not so bad.’”

“Elsa—” Anton begins.

She turns on him, eyes flashing. “It was different for you. He fought you off and did all those awful things himself, but he made me _want_ to do all the things that I did. I remember _loving_ when I fought the Rangers, when I landed a hit.”

“That wasn’t you,” says Tommy, reaching a hand across the table. To touch her arm, maybe, or to be physically closer, to pull her out of this place of aggression and hostility with the reminder that they’re all here now and that the danger is gone.

Some part of Elsa understands his intent, but she acts on the neural pathways carved by that horrible power that held her prisoner for so long. She shoots up from her seat and gets into a defensive stance, chair sliding away from her with a loud, thin scraping sound.

Tommy stands up, too, his hands raised as if in surrender, while Hayley steps away from the table, and Anton takes a single step back, glancing between Elsa and Tommy as if deciding whose side to take.

“That wasn’t you,” Tommy repeats, his voice softer now, “and this isn’t you, either.”

“ _Yes, it is,_ ” Elsa hisses. “This is _all_ of me, and don’t you _dare_ tell me otherwise. You have _no idea_ what this feels like, to think you might snap and start attacking _high school students_ , or any person on the street on a bad day. You don’t hear his voice calling your name like he still controls you. You don’t dream of when he punished you for _nothing at all_.”

“You’re right, I don’t—”

“I almost _killed you_. I almost killed your _students_. And I _loved_ it. I _loved_ it! And you will _never_ understand—”

“Elsa,” says Anton, reaching for her shoulder.

She whirls to face him, batting away his hand, ready to shove him away with all the force she can muster.

He flinches, and just as swiftly as the change had come before, Elsa’s thoughts realign. The arm she’d pulled back to hurt him with falls limp at her side, and the strength of those sinister impulses drains away, leaving her dazed and trembling.

“It’s okay,” Anton tells her, voice soft as he approaches.

This time, she lets him take her by the shoulders.

“It’s okay,” he repeats as Hayley rushes over to pull Elsa’s chair back to the table.

“No, it’s not,” Elsa murmurs as Anton guides her to her seat. “This is never going to be okay.”

“Yes, it will be,” he says once she’s seated. “It’s just going to take time, that’s all.”

“I don’t _have_ time. I work with minors. I can’t—”

“You’re not going to be alone at school,” says Tommy. “I’ll be there, too. Besides, it’s still just the start of summer vacation.”

“It’s going to be okay,” says Hayley. “I’m going to go get you some water.”

Elsa nods absently, making loose fists with her shaking hands.

Pulling his chair over, Anton sits across from her. He takes her hands gently in his, silent but reassuring. It’s enough to center her as she closes her eyes and tunes out the sounds of Tommy clearing the table and Hayley filling a cup with water until they’re just a hum against her ears. She stays like this for a while, not bothering to count her breaths or the seconds, only coming out of it and opening her eyes when Hayley sets a cup by her on the table.

“Here you go,” Hayley tells her. “No rush, by the way. I can open late today if you need a while.”

Elsa shakes her head, meaning to say any number of things— _thank you, I won’t cut your business hours short, I appreciate the offer and the water_ —but all she can manage is, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, trust me,” Hayley says, shooting her half a smirk. “Tommy and I deal with teenagers, too, remember?”

Managing a brief, weak smile, Elsa nods. She watches Hayley get back to work on cleaning up, Tommy following her with their coffee mugs. Her gaze lingers on them for a few seconds, then she turns to Anton and shakes her head. “I’m so sorry for what I said to you.”

“Don’t be,” he answers. “It’s true. It _was_ different for me.”

“But that doesn’t mean you have it any better than I do.”

“But it _does_ mean that I don’t understand what you’re going through.”

“Still. I’m sorry.”

He chuckles, the sound hollow and quiet. “I’m sorry, too.”

It’s such a simple thing, the apology, so small and weightless, that it shouldn’t do to her what it does. It shouldn’t quiet her fluttering thoughts, shouldn’t soothe her nerves, shouldn’t bring her out of where she’d been and what she’d almost done and fully to the morning that has otherwise gone so well. Yet it works, somehow. She’s calm again.

She turns her hands in his and grasps his fingers, nodding when he meets her gaze.

He nods back, giving her a small smile.

“Hayley,” she calls, looking over at where Hayley and Tommy have gone to do their cleaning. “Do you need any help?”

Hayley shuts off the tap and grabs a towel, drying her hands as she takes a few steps away from the sink. “Yeah, actually,” she says. “Could you wipe that table down for me?”

“Done,” says Anton.

“Why don’t we _both_ take care of that.” Elsa stands, arching an eyebrow as he follows suit. “What does a millionaire know about something so _mundane_?” She pulls her hands back before he can respond, crossing to Hayley to get a clean rag for them to use, as his quiet laughter follows behind her.

 

* * *

 

Elsa passes Trent, on his way out in his father’s car, on the long driveway to Anton’s house. They wave at each other, and once he’s out of sight, Elsa shakes her head and laughs. This probably looks suspicious to him, when it’s nothing of the sort. It’s mid-morning on Sunday, the day after the brunch at Hayley’s café, and Elsa has asked if she and Anton could talk alone today.

“Sure,” he had agreed. “I’ll have coffee ready.”

True to his word, the smell of light roast fills the air inside the house, beckoning her to its source. She might have gone to the kitchen even if he weren’t leading her there.

Conversation is light as they fill their mugs and use sugar and milk to taste. Elsa looks around the room during a lull, at the sunlight filtering in through the large windows that face the grounds. It’s beautiful here, and she’s glad that she gets to be here, walking towards a piece of the life she’d imagined she might have, before her world had become violence and deception.

Her question can’t wait anymore, so she sets her mug down on the counter and takes a breath. “There’s something I need to know.” She watches him, waiting until he has turned to look at her, then adds, “Something important.”

He glances at her as he puts the coffee pot back, nodding. “What is it?”

Her stomach turns even with the thought of it, but she hadn’t lied when she’d said that she _needs_ to know. Biting her lips, she looks at the mottled pattern on the granite countertop, choosing it for her lifeline as she dives deep. “Did—” This is a lot harder to say out loud than she’d imagined, but she won’t back away now. “Did Mesogog— _want_ me? I know that he was using me as much to hurt you as to further his plans, but he— sometimes when he invaded my space, it didn’t feel like he meant it just to be intimidating.”

Anton pauses a moment, and Elsa holds her breath, fearing the worst. Finally, he answers, “He didn’t think of you that way.”

She looks up in time to see him turn his face away, eyes closed, brow furrowed.

“Anything that may have seemed like that, it was… it was more to prove that he controlled you completely. That he could do whatever he wanted. And to, uh— to make me jealous.” His frown deepens, even as he opens his eyes and stares at something only he can see. “He’d made you forget who you really were, and so he would twist the knife, so to speak. But no, he was much more interested in bringing back the age of the dinosaurs.”

Letting out a shaky sigh, she shuts her eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. I— I think that—” Swallowing, she reaches out and places a hand on the counter, to steady herself as she lets herself voice one of the myriad thoughts haunting her. “I think I would’ve let him, if he’d tried. I was so—”

“He was more likely to kill you than anything. That probably isn’t much of a comfort—” In the silence of his sudden pause, she hears him take a step forward. “Do you need to sit?”

Her breathing is a bit shallow and quick, but she doesn’t feel faint. She’s starting to get used to this, the uncomfortable revelations from a time spent under a spell. At least this revelation is good.

“No,” she answers.

“You’re shaking,” he insists.

“I’ll be fine.” Holding up her free hand, she opens her eyes. “I’m fine.”

He holds his breath, watching her as if to determine whether or not she’s telling the truth, then exhales. “If you say so.”

Saying so is different than it being so. Elsa has told herself she’s fine so many times that the words come to her as easily as breathing. _I’m fine, I can be a principal again. I’m fine, I’ve slept well the past few days. I’m fine, I don’t need a vacation, last year was vacation enough, right?_ She’s told so many lies that she’ll contradict herself eventually.

People will let her get away with it, she’s sure. No one would dare bring up the year she can’t remember much about, the trauma her mind must have blocked off in order for her to keep functioning. That, at least, is an easy story to uphold.

But saying so doesn’t make it true.

Slowly, she goes to him, pushing past the pretense of propriety, until there is no space between them. She touches her forehead to his shoulder and slides her arms around his waist. Almost immediately, she feels him move to hold her, hands flat and warm on her back, head leaned against hers.

“It must have been so difficult for you,” she says after a minute or so. “I remember when I introduced you as the new biology teacher. I couldn’t have cared less about you if I’d tried. You were just a tool, a piece in the game. Just like I was, even though I didn’t know it.”

“It’s over now,” he says, breathing deep. “After so long, it’s over.”

“I’m not fine, Anton.”

“I know. Neither am I. But we will be. We have each other. We have the others.”

She turns her head so she’s almost curled against him, and grips the back of his shirt. “What about Trent and his friends? They’re going away to school, or to start a career— They won’t be near anyone who understands. I worry about them.”

“So do I, but—” He pauses, breathing quietly for a few seconds. “They can’t let this hold them back. None of us can. We’ll all be just a phone call or an email away.”

That doesn’t seem like enough, but maybe it will be, for them. Maybe Trent will be able to find healing in his art, and Kira will find solace in her music, and Conner will outrun the memories on the soccer field, and Ethan will find answers in computer code. Maybe Anton will find a miracle in his research, and Tommy will take comfort in teaching all those bright students. Maybe Elsa will be able to dance again without fear of unraveling.

“It doesn’t seem like enough,” she admits, “but it’ll have to be.”

“It will be.”

She nods and relaxes against him, shutting her eyes and inhabiting this moment, fully—the early summer sunlight, the smell of coffee, the heart beating by her ear in a steady, easy rhythm. This can be enough to get her through every day, this promise of company and steadfast support. They can be this for each other and for the ones who saved them both.

It can and will be enough, she thinks as she pulls back far enough to face him, to give him a small grin.

A moment later, he returns it, and she starts to really believe that everything will be okay.


End file.
